Exploits
by Nolle Prosequi
Summary: They were damaged goods, the both of them; mismatched bookends that just didn’t fit together quite right but they got the job done. BA.


**Disclaimer**: Obviously, none of this is mine. I wish it was, but I'll survive just writing about it... most days.

So, I haven't written in a long time but this little story just would not leave me alone until I wrote it. I had no beta, all mistakes are on me. Kudos if you can follow it and cookies if you actually like it! I tried to use their names as little as possible just as a personal challenge. Comments, constructive criticism and all that jazz would be amazing. Perhaps I'll be inspired to write more? ;D

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He let out an irritated groan and shoved some of the papers off of the table in a fit of frustration. They knew it wouldn't help to make an even bigger mess of the case laid out before them, but neither one made a move to put it back into some semblance of order. And that was the universal indicator for needing to call it a night.

As if fighting the inevitable, neither could still their movements. He paced sluggishly from one corner of the room to the other, muttering and gesturing in a manner that made all words and actions foreign to her. She, on the other hand, was busily flying over page after page of information – suspects, victims, MOs, evidence – everything began to blur before her eyes when she finally made the decision.

"I'm calling it a night." She announced, being the voice of reason behind the pair.

Almost tripping over his own feet at the sound of her voice invading his thoughts, he roughly stopped in place and looked at her – processing her words with as much practiced calculation as he had just dedicated to the case. Scrubbing the back of his neck and checking his watch, he was about to protest when he felt his own body protest to his opposition. He couldn't deny that he was exhausted.

"Good idea. We can reconvene with fresh eyes tomorrow." He didn't really want to leave.

A smile ghosted over her features, for a moment she thought he was going to object. She stretched and let out a quiet sigh of satisfaction before tidying up some of the papers she'd been reading earlier. He bent and retrieved the information he'd deemed useless earlier, putting it on the table in much the same condition it'd left it – excusing a few size thirteen shoe prints on one or two pages.

"See you tomorrow then." She was unnaturally bright and cheery, as if she'd just gotten her second wind.

If that was the case, he thought they should have put in a few more hours – but he didn't dare suggest it to her. Instead he wondered if she was telling the truth. Would he really see her tomorrow? Or would it be one of _those_ nights? If he were honest with himself, he couldn't really choose which he would prefer.

--

It was one of those nights – he should have known it by her parting demeanor. It felt as if he'd just entered his apartment, just taken off his shoes and tie and just began to decompress from the day when he heard the knock.

Sighing as if he were being lead to his own hanging, he took one large swig of the beer he'd just opened before pulling himself up off of the couch. He could have stayed there, she would have used her own key eventually, but he'd always had such good manners. And it was rude to leave a lady waiting.

His door was only half-open when the whirlwind of a woman came barreling in. She wasted no time with frivolous words, instead plastering herself to his front – making her intentions known in the most obvious of ways. He stepped into her, simultaneously slamming the door and pinning her up against it.

She pulled his head down to her level and they were joined at the lips, a violent duel broke out between their tongues – each seeking control of the other and neither gaining any ground. His hands distractedly skated down her arms, across her ribs, and settled on her hips. His fingers bit into the flesh he found where her shirt had ridden up ever so slightly. She'd have bruises tomorrow, but she didn't care tonight.

Retreating for a moment to catch his breath, he tightened his grip on her hips even more and lifted her so that she could fasten herself to him at the waist. They'd done this so many times now that it was almost second-nature to her to hold herself in this position against his door. She took to his neck with renewed force and sunk her teeth into the hot skin she found there. Feeling lightheaded from her ministrations, he leaned back and out of her reach to catch her eyes for the first time since she'd stepped foot in his apartment.

She was not about to give him that satisfaction. Instead, she turned her attention to the shirt he was wearing. The top three buttons were unbuttoned, exposing a white undershirt and a toned chest under that. Pulling the dress shirt out of his belt with ease, she wasted no time with the buttons. Gripping either side of the shirt and giving no warning, she yanked and the buttons clattered to the ground amid the sounds of their harsh breathing. He frowned – another shirt ruined – it was useless to recall how many times she'd carelessly ripped his shirts and gone on without pause.

Turning his frustration into action, he went to work on her collarbone, laving it with that dueling tool of before. She moaned and let her head fall back into the door with a soft thud. His hands roamed her ribs again, this time under the stifling fabric and it wasn't long before he had her shirt in his hands – revealing even more delicious skin for his own use. She leaned into him, panting heavily into his ear and running her fingers through his hair. Stripping him of his shirt was not enough, she squirmed around, manipulating his undershirt until he lifted his arms and conceded to her.

They were both reaching their patience levels as they continued their assaults on each other's skin. There would be bruises, bite marks and scratches tomorrow because of the way there were treating each other. It wasn't a controlled passion; it was a wild, unbridled onslaught of emotion that drove one to the other and the other back to that one. And suddenly it wasn't enough for either one. They'd grown tired of trying to one-up the other in their quest for pleasure. She was the one who spoke finally, breaking the spell almost. Almost.

"Bed." She breathed into his ear. Her voice think and husky from how far they'd already spiraled out of control.

He wasted no time, taking her up on the enticing invitation as he put his hands on her backside to get a better hold on her. Walking them both to his bedroom, he unceremoniously dropped her onto the bed with a wicked grin and a veiled look in his eyes. She was pure sex and she knew it. Stretching languidly on the bed, her hands above her head, he chose that moment to attack.

Seizing both her wrists in one of his palms, he restrained her with little resistance. His other hand grazed and teased to the point where she _was_ desperately trying to break free of his hold. He was cruel though, and held fast only to expertly ease them both out of what was left of their clothes.

It was not long after that that they finally came together. The world slowed as they both stood on the edge of destruction. When that release finally graced them with its presence, she bit her lip and closed her eyes, he turned his head and didn't dare to look her in the face.

Not long after, they fell into a motionless sleep on their respective sides of the bed – each careful not to touch the other; each careful not to dream about the other.

--

"Eames," He stood near her and gently shook her shoulder. She growled and stubbornly rolled over, pulling the covers over her head as she did so. He sighed and set her coffee on the nightstand next to the bed before heading into the bathroom.

She wasn't there when he came back out – she never was. The bed was meticulously made and the coffee mug was drained. All that was left of her presence was the faint lipstick stain she had left on the rim of the cup. Taking the mug back to the kitchen, he made his own cup before getting dressed. He was running out of shirts that didn't need the buttons sewed back on, but he found one soon enough and ended up being only a few minutes late to work.

--

"Morning, Bobby." She smiled brightly, as if she was letting him in on a glorious secret that only the two of them shared.

And in that moment, in moments like that, he wanted to tell her. He wanted to grab her like he was allowed to do in the cover of darkness. He wanted to shake her and make her listen and make her understand. He wanted to tell everyone. He wanted her to know. If he had the courage, he might have. If he didn't fear the changes it would bring, he might have.

He wanted to tell her how much he hated her. He wanted to tell her that what she was doing wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she could just show up whenever she felt like it, call on him whenever she needed him, pretend nothing ever happened the next day. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. He wanted to tell her that she could use him up and burn him out for as long as she needed. As long as it kept her out of the arms of other men, she could do with him whatever her selfish little heart desired.

His body refused to forget how well her body molded to his, his mind refused to forget their numerous encounters in the dark and his heart refused to forget that this little spark of a woman was just what he'd always wanted. And now that he had her, in one sense or another, he would give everything to give her back – because whatever had driven her to seek refuge in him had damaged her. They were damaged goods, the both of them; mismatched bookends that just didn't fit together quite right but they got the job done.

He wanted to tell her to stop torturing him – stop tormenting herself – for purely selfish reasons. He couldn't take her hot/cold act; each encounter chipped away at his soul, each time she stole a little piece of him that he would never get back. He lost his heart long ago and he'd accepted that when she'd stayed at a distance, but now he was in danger of losing everything else to the one person who was supposed to be able to keep him from this kind of disaster. He wanted to tell her to stop, he wanted to change his locks and double bolt his door, he wanted to get as far away from her as possible. But, like a moth to a flame, he just couldn't help himself. He was drowning and the one person with an extra life vest was the one person holding it just out of reach.

He wanted to tell her all this and more, but like the damaged package that he was, he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Morning, Eames. Ready to check out those suspects one more time? I wanted to look at Mr. Stevenson's alibi one more time. I had a thought last night, did anyone other than his cousin confirm his alibi?"

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So...? What'd you think? This little story is complete, but I may be persuaded to do a prequel/sequel if enough people like it.


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